Drawn

by James Hankins

  “Look at me,” she said.

  He shook his head and kept his eyes squeezed shut.

  “Please look at me.”

  He forced his eyes open.

  “Can’t see you,” he said. He groaned softly.

  Looking into his eyes, she could see something was wrong with them, something…not quite right.

  “Are you blind?”

  “I am now.”

  She didn’t understand but she moved on. He began to shake.

  “Do you mind that I’m touching you?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “What’s your name?” she asked quietly.

  After a moment, he said, “Boone.”

  “I’m Alice, Boone. Has this happened before to you?”

  He nodded.

  “And yet you’re still alive.”

  “I don’t…understand.”

  “Here you are, out among people, yet you’re still alive. This has happened before and you always survived, right?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s right. And you’ll get through this just fine. Nothing to fear here. We’re just sitting at a counter, eating bagels.” She spoke calmly and evenly, like she would to a frightened child. It occurred to her that if Henry had lived, she might have spoken to him like this if he woke in the night after dreaming of monsters.

  “Take a deep breath if you can, Boone, okay? Slow your breathing down, take one big breath, then another…that’s really good, keep doing that…just breathe, in and out, in and out.” She kept her hands on his face. He didn’t seem to be sweating as badly. “You’re doing really well, Boone, really well.”

  She held his face and spoke encouraging words until his breathing resumed a nearly normal rhythm and he stopped sweating and moaning and trying to crush his own rib cage with his arms. She sensed that other people might have been staring at them—the girl behind the counter, others, too—but she didn’t look and she didn’t care. She stared into Boone’s half-ruined face and said nice, simple things. He seemed to be coming back to her. Finally, he took one last big breath and sat up straighter. Alice took her hands from his face and Boone turned away again, facing forward. She waited for him to speak. After a few moments, he said, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “It was nothing.”

  He nodded, picked up his bagel, then put it down again. Alice took a bite of hers and chased it with a sip of coffee.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “That was nothing, too.”

  “It wasn’t. You kept me from completely losing it. That was…really something. I’ve never controlled it before, not after it really started. I’ve always just…crumbled. You wouldn’t let me.”

  She smiled. “Glad I was here to help.”

  “Me, too.”

  Alice finished her bagel.

  “You probably have questions,” he said after a time.

  “Not really. Certainly none that are my business.”

  He turned toward her very, very slightly and tipped his head a funny way.

  “I had a car accident,” he said. “What you see is only part of what it did to me. I lost the sight in my right eye and I’m nearly blind in my left one. I have a weird thing called a scotoma. It’s a huge blind spot in the middle of my vision. All I have is peripheral vision in that eye.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Alice said.

  Boone chuckled. “The really screwy thing is that when I have one of these panic attacks, I often lose even my peripheral vision, so I literally can’t see a thing. I’m completely blind for a little while. Sometimes for minutes, sometimes just for a few seconds. But it’s always pretty scary.”

  “I bet. That’s so terrible. Still, you must have been at least a little bit relieved, after the initial shock about losing so much of your sight.”

  “Relieved?” He cocked his head a bit more.

  “Well, sure. I mean, you lost one eye completely. I suppose you could have lost the other completely, too. Instead, you lost some vision in the middle, but you still have some. Don’t get me wrong, what happened to you is really tragic and I don’t have a clue how I’d have dealt with something like that. I’m just saying that you probably realized long ago that it could have been worse for you.”

  Boone said nothing.

  Alice gave it thought for a moment. “With peripheral vision, you probably even get around okay, right? And you must be able to see colors still, and shapes. That’s more than a lot of people have, people who are totally blind.”

  Boone was silent. He turned away again. Alice realized she’d said something wrong.

  “I’m so sorry,” she began, “I obviously have no idea—”

  He interrupted her. “You want to hear something terrible? This is almost too unbelievable to be true, and I’m embarrassed—no, I’m ashamed—to admit it, but never once, not one single time in the six years since my accident, did I think of it that way.” He shook his head. “But maybe I should have.”

  Alice was relieved. He wasn’t angered or offended by her words.

  He added, “Still, the agoraphobia can be a bitch.” He chuckled. Alice found herself smiling. Then Boone was smiling, too, and though Alice saw only half of his face, she could see that it was a warm and wonderful smile. Suddenly, she thought of Daniel and looked away.

  “How about you?” Boone asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Are you disfigured, mostly blind, and agoraphobic, too? Or is that just me?”

  For an instant, Alice was too shocked to speak, then she laughed out loud.

  “You’ve got a nice laugh,” he said.

  She choked off her laughter, embarrassed.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.” He took a sip of his coffee. “So, seriously, what about you? On your way to visit family? Meeting up with your boyfriend for a weekend camping trip in the White Mountains of New Hampshire? Where are you heading?”

  “I…well, I…”

  He turned to face her again. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m not planning anything creepy, despite my creepy face. I was just making conversation. It’s ridiculously easy to talk to you, and I don’t say that to many…well, to any people.”

  “No,” she said, “it’s okay. I just…I’m not quite sure where I’m going.”

  She couldn’t tell him why, of course, couldn’t tell him that the reason she didn’t know where she was going was because she was waiting for a mysterious little spectral boy to give her a sign.

  “Hmm,” he grunted. “Sounds familiar.”

  “It does?”

  He said nothing for a moment. It almost seemed like he was trying to decide whether to share something with her. But the moment passed and he simply said, “I’m not quite sure where I’m going either.”

  She nodded. She was curious about that, naturally, but he was probably curious about the same thing when she’d said it, and he hadn’t pushed the issue, so she didn’t either.

  “If I can ask,” she said, “how are you going to get wherever you finally decide to go? You can’t drive, can you?”

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “See those chuckleheads in the booth back there?”

  Alice turned and saw three young college-age men fighting over the last scraps from a McDonald’s bag. One of them said something, a second one laughed, and the third one punched the second one in the chest. Then they all laughed together.

  Boone said, “They offered to give me a ride for a while.”

  “For how long?”

  “Well, until I get where I’m going, after I figure that out, or until our paths no longer overlap, I guess.”

  Alice thought about what he’d just said. After I figure out where I’m going… It sounded eerily similar to her own situation. Another burst of laughter came from the guys in the booth. Alice wished she could give this man a ride somewhere. As cautious a person as she generally was, he simply didn’t seem like a threat. He seemed too nice. Des
pite his significant misfortune, he had apparently kept some of his humor and, though he hadn’t realized on his own that he could have been worse off, he was receptive to the idea, and even had the strength of character to feel shame—and admit to that shame—for having failed to consider the notion himself.

  In fact, not only did Alice sense that Boone presented no danger to her, but she felt that he was the one in need of protection. Could she provide it though, and still follow the little boy…whenever he finally decided to show himself again? But she hated to simply leave Boone. He made her feel…what? Protective? Something different? Something…more?

  “Boone,” she said, “we obviously don’t know each other, and maybe you’re looking forward to riding with those guys, but if you want, I could give you a ride for a while, until—like you said about them—until our paths no longer overlap.”

  He said nothing for a moment and Alice began to wonder if perhaps she had made a mistake somehow, when Boone suddenly flashed that wonderful smile of his again and said, “That would be great, Alice. Really. To be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to listening to frat-boy talk for the next few hours. I’d love a ride from you. I’m ready to leave whenever you want.”

  That was the problem, though, she thought. She wanted to leave right away, to find the little boy, help him in whatever way she could. But she needed a bit of direction from him before she could continue her mission, and the boy had been a little too quiet lately. Perhaps she needed to excuse herself from Boone for a few minutes, get her sketchpad from the car, find a quiet seat somewhere, and start drawing. Maybe the kid would finally make an appearance on the page.

  “Boone,” she said, “could you give me a few minutes? I have something I have to do, then I’ll be back and we’ll get on the road. Okay?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Okay.”

  “I’ll be back,” she said. “Just give me a few minutes.”

  Another hesitation, then, “Sure.” After a moment he added, “Thanks for your help tonight. It…meant a lot to me.”

  He seemed very thoughtful suddenly and she thought she knew why.

  “You do know that I’ll be right back, don’t you?” she said. “I just need to run to my car for a second, then spend a few minutes on…on something. But I’ll be right back, okay?”

  He hesitated only a fraction of a moment before smiling. “Okay, Alice,” he said. “See you soon.”

  “See you soon.”

  She stood and walked toward the doors to the parking lot. When she’d almost reached them, she looked back and saw Boone, his head up and tilted to one side, as if he was watching her walk away. She didn’t know if he was capable of that with his limited vision, but she raised her hand in a wave, just in case. He didn’t wave back. He looked so alone sitting there, so vulnerable, that she almost returned to him, to sit with him and wait a while longer for the little boy to show up and tell her which way to go. But the kid could be in trouble and, for all she knew, time was of the essence. So with a last, brief glance at Boone, she walked out into the parking lot to retrieve her sketching materials.

  Alice was almost all the way to her car when she felt a prickle on her skin. The back of her neck tingled. She turned and saw a small figure walking between two cars off to her left, then it was gone. She hurried after it, between the same two cars, and looked right, then left, and there he was again, at the end of the row of cars, the little blond boy in the Welcome Back Kotter shirt. He was waving to her. Beckoning. He turned and walked on. Now Alice could see that he was walking a few feet behind a well-built man who was carrying a fast-food bag in one hand and a soda in the other. Was the boy following him or were they simply heading in the same direction?

  Alice had to move fast or she’d lose the boy. She started hurrying back toward her car but didn’t take her eyes off the boy and the man for more than a second or two. Then she remembered. Boone. She was supposed to give him a ride. She paused, unsure what to do as she watched the little boy follow the man beyond the cluster of cars parked near the building. They kept going. She saw a car parked on the far side of the parking lot, away from all the other cars, in deep shadow cast by trees on the edge of the lot. Alice knew for certain that the boy was following the man to that car. If she went back inside for Boone, she’d lose the boy and the man for certain. So with a sigh, she turned and hurried to Daniel’s BMW, unlocked it, slid behind the wheel, and revved the engine. She backed out of her spot and had just circled around the other cars when she saw the man’s car, a dark blue Audi, pull out of the shadows and head toward the exit back onto Route 93 North. She couldn’t see into the car—it was dark out, the car was a bit too far away, and the windows were tinted—but she didn’t have to. She had no doubt that the boy wanted her to follow this car. Maybe he was sitting inside there, looking out at her from behind that dark glass, or maybe he’d disappeared into the ether again, satisfied that he had put her on the right track to wherever he was leading her. Either way, Alice knew that she had to follow the car, though she didn’t know to where, or why. Nor did she know who the man was or whether he was dangerous. He certainly looked as though he could be dangerous. But it didn’t matter. She knew she had to follow him.

  I’m sorry, Boone, she said to herself. And she was. She hated to leave him like that after promising to help him. Also, she had to admit, she was inexplicably sad that she’d never see him again. She couldn’t imagine why she felt that way. After all, she’d only just met the man.

  She turned on the radio. Bon Jovi and “Livin’ on a Prayer” filled the car, but Alice barely heard it. She was thinking a little bit about Boone, but mostly now she was thinking about the little boy, the man in the car ahead of her, and where they both might be taking her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  NATHAN IS A ghost. He’s in his house, his lake house in New Hampshire, the house he built with his own two hands, built for Maggie and Jeremy. They spent so many summers there, all three of them together, snatching fireflies from the twilit air, catching white perch from the lake, picnicking at the water’s edge while Jeremy hunted for frogs, gazing at a hundred sunrises and a million stars. When Jeremy was all grown up and out on his own, Nathan and Maggie would pass months at a time at this house, rocking in chairs side by side on the front porch, iced-tea glasses sweating in their hands. He’d be looking out at the water and feel her touch his cheek. He’d smile over at her and make some smart-ass comment about how gray she was getting and maybe he should have married Tilda Warren, and she’d say that Tilda never would have married him because he was too skinny. He’d admit that he was a bit skinny and say that she could use a little of that, and she’d admit that she was a bit chunky but at least she didn’t have to worry about a strong wind knocking her flat. Then they’d smile and she’d stroke his cheek again and more often than not they’d hold hands until the sun set. Sometimes Jeremy came to visit, usually once or twice a summer, and he’d spend the weekend fishing with his old man and letting his mother dote on him before heading back to his life. Then cancer took Maggie and the war took Jeremy—and even though Jeremy came back, he was never the same. He stopped coming to the house and so did Nathan.

  But now he’s here again, Nathan, standing in the house, only he’s no more than a ghost. But is he even that? He can’t move. Maybe he’s a ghost, but maybe not. Maybe he isn’t even there. Perhaps he’s merely watching events unfold like scenes in a movie.

  There’s Jeremy, in his army clothes, his side stained with blood, standing at a window, looking out at the darkness. Nathan calls to him but he doesn’t seem to hear. He can’t see Jeremy’s face, and it occurs to him that he hasn’t been able to see his son’s face through all of this, through his other dreams—and he somehow remembers those dreams, knows he’s dreaming now and that he was dreaming then—but he hasn’t quite seen Jeremy’s face. He wishes he could.

  A pounding shakes the front door on its hinges.

  Jeremy turns from the window and hobbles over to make sur
e the lock is engaged. He’s favoring a bad ankle. Damn it, why won’t Jeremy let him see his face? But it has to be Jeremy. Who else would it be? Who else would run here, to this house, to find sanctuary?

  Nathan calls to him again but Jeremy doesn’t hear him and Nathan gives up trying.

  The door rattles on its hinges again. The monster roars outside. Nathan wonders why he doesn’t simply break the glass windows and climb in. But dreams rarely follow real-world logic and the man-thing roars and pounds on the door.

  Jeremy backs away, limping. He’s a grown man, a soldier, and he backs away in fear. But Nathan never questions his bravery because the thing outside is something no one could face alone. It is too big and powerful and full of wounded rage. Now it has grasped the doorknob outside and is rattling it violently, shaking the knob, shaking the door, and now it’s pounding on the thick wood with one hand and rattling the knob with the other. And Jeremy backs farther and farther away from the door as the pounding and rattling continues and the door starts to buckle and the thing outside roars and roars and the door rattles and rattles and—

  THE CAR RATTLED over the ruts on the highway’s shoulder again and Nathan jerked his head up and his eyes open. He fishtailed through gravel, then swerved back onto the road, expecting horns to blare or a siren to sound. But there were no other cars in sight.

  He was such a fool to take two pills instead of one. One alone might have made driving difficult, but two had certainly done the trick and done it well. He checked his odometer, looked at the dashboard clock, and did a quick calculation. Assuming he didn’t wrap his Buick around a tree or play bumper cars again, he’d be at his lake house in New Hampshire in just over an hour.

  He popped the top on his second energy drink and drained half of it in one swallow.

  Hang on, Jeremy.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  BOONE SQUEEZED HIS eyes shut and tried to slow his breaths. He felt like he was standing on a narrow ledge, one tiny muscle twitch away from free-falling into a full-blown panic attack. In the past, he might have fallen already, slipped into that void, where he’d spin breathless and blind into eventual unconsciousness. But tonight, for one of the first times since agoraphobia took hold of his life, he was hanging on. In his mind, he saw the woman from the rest stop, Alice—not as he saw actually saw her, indistinct in his peripheral vision, but as he imagined her, smiling at him with kind eyes. Back at the rest stop, it felt like he was being pulled under water, down into dark cold water, but she wouldn’t let him go under, her hands on his cheeks held him up, those hands the only things keeping him from sinking into the cold dark. And now, here in the backseat of the frat boys’ car, he could almost feel her hands on his cheeks again, holding his face, holding him back from the edge of that void. It occurred to him only then that he couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than a medical professional—let alone a woman—had touched his face.